A Crush Given Life
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: It's just a crush, but given life, its blossomed into so much more.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise. **

Challenges listed at the bottom.

**Word Count** \- 6245

_Warning for canon character death, grief, and alcohol abuse. _

* * *

**A Crush Given Life **

* * *

"Can I go with Remus?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed. She blushed when Kingsley raised an eyebrow at her. "I just… I know him better."

George shrugged. "I'm good with that."

Fred gave him a knowing look, and he rolled his eyes, paying his brother no mind. Fred was forever teasing him about his little crush—no matter how much George protested that it _wasn't _a crush, it was just an understandable appreciation of a skilled man.

George wasn't in denial, not at all. Of course not.

Remus nodded, his lips twisting slightly. "If that will make you more comfortable," he said, nodding to Hermione. "Although, I thought you didn't want to go on a broom?"

"At least I can _see _the broom."

"Will you all just get a move on," Mad-Eye demanded, waving his hand at them, irritation obvious. "We're on a tight schedule, we don't have time for you lot to be arsing about!"

Fred and George both snorted at the word choice and moved to stand beside their 'protectors', Fred with their father, and George with Kingsley. The broad man was throwing off heat, and if George stood half a step closer than necessary, it was only because he was cold.

_Honestly_.

"You're okay on a thestral?" Kingsley asked, his voice deep and calm, as it always was. George couldn't help but wonder what it would take to make the man sound a little less calm, and he bit his lip as he nodded.

"Fine," he choked out, cursing his thoughts. He couldn't be distracted right now! Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

Kingsley climbed onto the thestral first, before he held a polite hand down to help George throw himself up behind him.

"Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight," Kingsley ordered. "Whatever happens, do not let go."

"I know. I won't," George promised. He had his wand clutched tightly in his fist, and it was awkward for a moment, trying to find a way to hold on to Kingsley while still holding his wand, but he managed.

Mad-eye counted them down and then they were in the air. George was only allowed a few seconds to enjoy the moment before they were surrounded, lights flashing everywhere around them, spells brushing far too close for comfort.

With his free hand, George gripped Kingsley's robes as he fired off spell after spell, protecting the two of them as best as he could while Kingsley urged the Thestral faster, maneuvering them skillfully away from the fight.

George almost took a breath, before he realised that they weren't free and clear, as four masked figures came into view behind them, their spells cutting too close for comfort.

"Fuck," he gasped, as his elbow was clipped.

"Are you okay?" Kingsley asked, and suddenly George knew how he sounded when he was breathless and frantic and he wished that he didn't because _this wasn't how he wanted to find out. _

"Holy fuck," George replied in leiu of an answer because that was Voldemort flying towards them. "Can you make this thing go any faster, pal? We've got a straggler that we really don't want!"

Except as soon as he'd appeared, Voldemort was gone, and the Death Eaters had fallen back. George looked around them, his wand still held tight in his hand, his heart beating a frantic song in his chest because why were they gone?

They passed through the protective barriers and were allowed a moment to breath before the portkey would activate to take them back to the Burrow. George couldn't stop his fear from building.

His dad and his brothers were out there. His twin was out there. Harry, Hermione, Remus… and they had no idea if any of them were okay.

Kingsley's hand landed on his shoulder and he squeezed lightly, forcing George's attention on him.

"They'll be okay, George. You did well out there, trust that they all did the same."

George nodded and swallowed hard, taking the portkey when Kingsley offered it to him. There was no way to find out if Fred… if _any _of them were okay, until they got to the Burrow.

…

Hermione was slashed down her the side of her face. She'd be left with a scar, and the guilt George felt was _real, _because that should have been him.

The relief that Fred and his dad, and Ron and Bill were okay battled against the guilt, leaving him all muddled up inside. Fred cracked a joke, and he tried to laugh, but it came out hysterical and weird and George didn't miss the concern on his mum's face when she looked at him.

There was just too much all at once and George wasn't really sure what to do with any of it. When it was topped off with the news that they hadn't _all _made it back okay, George felt like he was going to vomit.

He slipped from the kitchen where everyone was gathered outside, the much needed air cool on his skin. He wondered if his skin was as hot as he thought it was.

"Calm down."

Hands on his shoulders stopped him from spinning around, and only the fact that he recognised the voice stopped him from pulling his wand without pause.

"Probably announce your presence before you touch people," he said shakily, as Kingsley squeezed his shoulders carefully. Tight, but not painfully so.

Surprisingly it helped, made George feel a little more grounded in the moment, a little bit more secure.

"It's not your fault that Hermione was injured," Kingsley said softly. "She was the one to suggest the change, and more than that, the blame for her injury lies with those that dealt it and nobody else. You did not cast the spell that hurt her."

George nodded, because logically… logically, he knew that. He did. It was just…

"I must take my leave," Kingsley said, his hands tightening a fraction for a moment before he released George entirely. "But if you need anything, even just someone to talk to, you can owl me, okay? George… we're heading into dangerous times. Now, more than ever, we must be careful, and look after each other."

George nodded again. "I know. Thank you."

Kingsley nodded once and then walked away. George watched him go, his eyes on the vibrant violet markings on the hood of Kingsley's robes until he disappeared from view, apparating away as soon as he made it past the ward boundary.

"You okay?"

George turned and pulled Fred against him, hugging his twin tight. He'd always been the more sensitive of the two of them, but he thought that maybe Fred needed the comfort too, because he didn't complain. They sank against one another, holding on tight to each other for a long moment.

"You're not allowed to die," George demanded. "You hear me?"

"I won't," Fred swore. "I promise."

Movement inside the kitchen made them separate, and they watched as Remus, Tonks, then Bill and their dad left.

"So, uh… how was it on the way?" Fred asked, raising his eyebrows, a smirk spreading his lips. "Aside from the almost certain death I mean? Did you enjoy the _ride?" _

George rolled his eyes and shoved Fred. "You're a dick."

…

"I… can't do this anymore," Fred grumbled. He'd been sulky for days, and George had taken to ignoring his huffing and puffing in favor of working on new things for the shop for the day they could reopen.

He forced himself to believe that day would come. The other option… wasn't an option.

"Can't do what?"

"Sit in this cramped up little room, pretending that we can all just stay here indefinitely, until the war's over," Fred muttered. "Nothing is going to change if everyone just keeps _hiding!" _

"So, you wanna what? Storm the castle? Take the battle to You-Know-Who and… then what? Get killed? Does that sound like a good plan to you?"

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but deflated quickly when he couldn't deny George's words.

"I just… it's killing me, George. The waiting… we've never been meant to be trapped away from life like this."

"I know," George agreed. "But at the moment… there's nothing more we can do."

Fred flopped back onto the bed he was sitting on, his face sulky and miserable, and stared up at the ceiling. "Maybe there is though."

"Like what?"

"Well. We might be trapped, but… we can still help, right? There should be hope? Maybe we can give people hope?"

…

"It's a no-brainer, really," Fred agreed, when George suggested that Lee would be the best person to host 'Potterwatch', the radio station that would give hope to the others in their world that were hiding like they were, waiting for a sign that meant the fighting would begin.

"How are we going to convince Mum to let us go though?" George asked. "Because honestly, Fred, I don't think she'd going to be too happy with us leaving to go to a house that isn't even as close to as safe as this one."

Fred shook his head. "We… are not going to tell her."

"Fred—"

"We'll leave a note, so she doesn't go into meltdown but… George. We need to do this. We can't just sit here anymore. _I _can't just sit here anymore."

George swallowed hard, thinking of the reaction their mum would have to finding them gone, before he nodded. As much as he hated to hurt her, he couldn't deny that the adrenaline thrumming through him at the thought of leaving this square box of a room was better than anything he'd felt since…

He shook the thought away because he didn't think about Kingsley often because it _wasn't a crush. _

"Okay. I… okay. Let's do it."

…

"I uh, didn't know you were on the run," George said, his brain temporarily stunned at the sight of Kingsley in anything less than the finest robes.

Kingsley shrugged. "I was never going to be allowed to remain in the Ministry, I've been far too vocal about being against the dark forces and… _him_."

George nodded, because that made sense. "So what have you been doing?"

"Surviving," Kingsley replied, his lips spreading into a small smile. "Helping others where I can. I've stuck mostly to muggle areas. It's easier to hide amongst them than it is to survive in the countryside or remote forests and woods."

"How'd you hear about us being… here?"

"I've been listening," Kingsley replied, gesturing to where Lee was setting up his broadcasting equipment. "A lot of people have. What you're doing… it's a good thing."

George smiled. "We… we just want to help. And maybe give people hope that it's not all over yet. He hasn't won, people need to believe that."

…

When the Death Eaters found them, it happened so fast that even when they landed from Fred's hasty Apparition, George's mind was still frozen in shock, looking at a wand aimed at his face.

"Where are we?" he stuttered out, looking around them. Fred stood beside him, panting, and holding his side.

"The woods near the Burrow. You remember, we used to come down here when Mum wasn't paying attention?"

George nodded. The thought that they were so close to the Burrow—home—was both a comfort and a disappointment, because they couldn't go back there like they'd always been able to before.

"We, uh, should go back to Murial's," George said after a moment. "But we should wait a little bit, and do a few Apparition jumps first… just in case."

Fred shook his head. "I can't go back there, George. It was driving me insane!"

"So we're just going to… what? Sleep rough with no idea of what's happening in the world, until someone eventually catches up with us. Good plan, Fred."

Fred rolled his eyes hard. "You worry too much."

"That's the problem! You don't worry enough! I know you don't wanna go back to Murial's, Fred, I get it, I don't really wanna be there either, but we don't even have a tent. Why sleep rough when we don't have too?"

"I didn't listen to a word of what you just said," Fred replied, turning his head away. "Because whatever it was was probably sensible."

George snorted and lowered himself to the ground, leaning his back against a tree. Fred was clearly going to be stubborn about this, and honestly, George knew better than to argue with him when he got like this.

At least for a few hours.

"You're an idiot," he said softly. "And you're going to get us both killed. By mum, even if nothing else comes along to finish us off."

Fred just looked down at him fondly. "I'd never let anything happen to you, George. You know better than that."

…

A crack sounded nearby, and George woke from his doze, his fingers fumbling clumsily for his wand. Beside him, Fred seemed much more alert, his wand already in his hand as he scanned around for the danger.

"Hold your fire," a voice said, and they both sighed with relief when they recognised it.

"Lee? You're okay?" Fred asked, still holding his wand tightly.

"I thought you might come here," Lee admitted, stepping into the clearing. "Thought I should come check. Come on, get up you lazy shits."

"Where are we going?" Fred asked, frowning slightly, though he did stand up, wincing. George looked at him worriedly. He had a feeling that at least one of Fred's ribs was cracked or fractured.

"When I apparate out of the house, it was to a forest not far off there. It was the first place I thought of, but I didn't have anything with me. I went to the little Muggle village on the other side of the forest and found Kingsley there. When I told him what happened, he said we had to try and find you guys, make sure you're okay."

"We're good," George said, even as Fred wiggled his eyebrows at George, a salacious smirk on his lips. "Mostly."

Lee looked between them and shook his head. "I don't think I even want to know. Anyway, Apparition coordinates good enough, or do I need to side along you both?"

"Ahh, probably side along," Fred admitted. "My Apparition can be a little bit sketchy."

Lee snorted. "Alright, one at a time then. I can't guide both of you, someone will end up splinched."

George tried to push Fred forward, but Fred shook his head. "Not a chance. Go, George."

"Why can't you go first?" George asked. "_You're_ hurt."

"I'm not going to leave you here by yourself," Fred said, shaking his head.

"We'll I'm not leaving you here either. You're injured, how the hell are you going to defend yourself?"

"Merlin give me strength," Lee said, looking skyward for a moment. "Just… stay here, both of you. I'll be back in a few."

True to his word, Lee was only gone for a few minutes, and when he returned, it was holding on to the muscular arm of Kingsley.

"Right, we'll take one each, since you're both being bloody stubborn," Lee said, walking over to them. He reached out and carefully took a hold of Fred. "Hold on, okay. Soon as we're there, we can look at those ribs."

Fred lingered for a brief moment, shooting a slightly worried look at George, before he nodded and wrapped his arms around Lee's neck, giving himself and Lee a better grip.

George felt his cheeks heat up as Kingsley wrapped strong arms around him.

"Are you ready?"

When George nodded, his face brushed against Kingsley's broad chest, and he barely managed to stop himself from just burying his face there and hiding from the world. Instead, he felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition and just clung to the man for his life.

For a few seconds, it was allowed.

…

The house was nondescript, but as they passed over the boundary line, George felt magic tingle along his skin and he felt his eyes widen. Damn, but those were some strong wards. Not that he should have been surprised, really. He already knew Kingsley was powerful.

As soon as he stepped inside, he saw Fred laid out on the sofa, Lee checking his ribs carefully.

"How is he, Dr Jordan?" George asked, his lips tilted in a smile.

"Pretty sure it's just one cracked rib, but…"

Kingsley stepped passed George, brushing him gently, and pulled his own wand. "May I check?" he asked, his eyes meeting Fred's as he waited for a verbal consent that was quickly given.

Within moments, Kingsley confirmed that Lee was correct, and then cast a healing spell that made Fred groan with relief.

"You're a king amongst men," Fred said, sitting up gingerly. "Thank you."

Kingsley nodded. "Of course. You're both welcome to stay here, although admittedly space is on the conservative side. It's not a large house, and there's only so much magic can accomplish before it becomes obvious to those on the outside."

"We'll manage in that room you offered me," Lee assured him, waving off the apologetic words. "Come on, guys, lemme show you."

…

George wasn't sure if he was allowed out into the back; wasn't sure if that was safe, so when nightmares woke him, he perched himself in the window seat of the living room instead, his eyes on the stars.

It was something he'd always done to ease his nerves after bad dreams. Usually, he could sit in the garden of the Burrow and feel perfectly safe but… times changed, he supposed.

For now, he could settle for this, though he'd have to ask if the back garden was safe and accessible for the future. He'd undoubtedly need it.

Footsteps coming down the stairs broke into his thoughts, and his eyes were on the door to the living room when Kingsley stepped through it. He stopped, clearly he hadn't expected to find George there, and his eyes widened slightly.

"Sorry," George murmured. "I, uh…. Nightmares. I couldn't sit in bed."

"It's fine, I just wasn't expecting anyone to be awake yet," Kingsley replied, and _oh dear Merlin, _his voice was husky with sleep and George just about died.

Unable to speak without fear of embarrassing himself, George just nodded and turned back to the window, while Kingsley stepped through the living room to the kitchen. George could hear him rustling about, barely audible clatters on the marble countertops.

It was comforting, in a way, to hear the sounds of someone else nearby.

When Kingsley returned, it was with two mugs and he handed one over to George without comment. He sat down on the other side of the window seat, his hands both wrapping around the mug.

When George looked down into his own, it was to see the dark brown of hot chocolate, still swirling a little where it had been stirred.

"Thanks."

Kingsley nodded. "We all have our own solutions to chase away the nightmares."

George just sipped at the hot liquid quietly. He wanted to ask, but he was aware of how much it cost to admit to having nightmares at all, so he didn't. If Kingsley wanted to talk about his demons, then he would.

"It's drawing closer," Kingsley said, looking up at the sky. "The end of this… mess. One way or another, it will be over soon."

"How do you know?" George asked, though he couldn't stop himself from hoping with everything in him that Kingsley was right.

"It cannot last forever," Kingsley replied. "And the sightings of Harry, though of course cannot all be true, are getting more and more. Whatever his mission… he's gaining ground."

"You seem… confident that Harry can complete whatever this mission is."

Kingsley smiled slightly. "I am… confident that he's going to do his best, and I am sure that if anyone can bring about an end to this madness, it will be him. Albus Dumbledore said as much before he died, and I still believe in that. I don't believe Harry can do it alone, though."

"He's not alone—"

"You misunderstand me," Kingsley said. "I know Ron and Hermione are with him. I mean, that when the time comes, we'll all be needed. One way or another, we will fight for our freedom, but so will the other side. I fear the losses we may face, even in victory."

George swallowed hard because he understood that fear. It was what he saw in his mind every night after all; his family dead. It was visions of that that kept him awake.

Kingsley reached out and touched George's thigh gently. "We will get through this, George. With as many lives saved as is possible."

"How do you know that?" George said, asking for something, anything, to latch onto.

"I have faith," Kingsley replied firmly. "You just have to choose to have it too."

…

After that first evening, Kingsley often joined George in the middle of the night, although more often than not he found George in the garden, curled up on the bench resting against the back of the house.

They often had hot chocolate, despite the heat of the evenings rising as the days passed by.

More than that, Kingsley and George often sat out there before they'd even attempted sleep, enjoying the last rays of sunshine of the day. They spoke softly, of better times before the war tore apart families and lives indiscriminately.

George told of his childhood at the Burrow, of the carefree days of pranks he and Fred had played at Hogwarts, of their plans for the shop before life invaded and threw them for a loop.

In turn, Kingsley told George of growing up in a traditionally pureblood household, of his strict but loving mother and his time as an Auror at the Ministry.

It was on one such evening that Fred burst out into the garden, waving a gold coin in George's face as he spoke a mile a minute, the words flowing too fast for even George to understand them.

"Fred," he interrupted firmly. "What's going on?"

"Harry's at Hogwarts," Fred announced. "We're going… we're fighting. Lee's letting the rest of the resistance know via Potterwatch, but we gotta go, George!"

George blinked, and then he nodded, standing up, conversation forgotten. They prepared quickly, robes filled with as many of their more useful inventions, wands holstered carefully. Kingsley was with them when they Apparated to Hogsmeade, and he was with them minutes later, when they climbed through the portal to the Room of Requirement.

For just a moment, George felt his large, warm hand on his shoulder, and their eyes met for a split second. In that second, Kingsley's eyes seemed to blaze with unspoken words that George had no problem reading.

Words like, _We can do this, _and _Be careful, _and _I'll be with you at the end of this. _

He nodded once, and Kingsley squeezed his shoulder, and then they separated.

George didn't realise that the next time he saw Kingsley, everything would be different. He didn't realise that by the next time he saw Kingsley, his whole world would be flipped on its head and set on fire.

…

The bar was dingy and dark and dirty, but George didn't care. As long as the bartender didn't stop filling his glass with the horrible cheap imitation of Firewhisky that burned harder and longer than any other George had tasted, then it was all fine.

Except it wasn't, because the door swung open, and moments later there was a firm chest pressed against George's back, and large warm arms around his waist.

Alcohol and Apparition didn't mix. Ever. When they landed, George had a second's warning before he was forced to bend over as he vomited all over the grass they'd landed on.

"What," he panted, interrupted by a second retch. "What's your game?" he demanded, when he could force the words out.

Kingsley watched him, concern and frustration warring with each other on his face. This wasn't the first time he'd been to see George since the battle, but it was the first time he'd removed him from the bar without warning.

"I won't sit back and let you kill yourself," Kingsley said, low and angry. "Do you not think that there's been enough loss already? Do you really want to add to it? To add to your father's pain, your mother's tears?"

George couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, he collapsed onto the grass and closed his eyes. "I'm not your son," he muttered, petulantly. "You can't tell me what to do."

"You're not my son," Kingsley agreed. There was a moment of silence, and then a hand in George's hair, gentle as it played with the greasy strands. "But just because we're not blood relatives, that does not stop me from worrying about you; it doesn't stop me from wanting you to face your grief before you let it consume you."

"You don't _get _it," George argued weakly. "He's my _twin_. I can't just… I don't know… I can't."

"I've never lost a twin," Kingsley whispered. "But I have lost people. Everyone has, George. You're not the only one that lost Fred. Your mother and father lost a _son, _and at the moment, they're terrified that they're about to lose another one."

George swallowed at the bile that threatened to erupt for a second time. He knew he was hurting his parents, he just… didn't know how to stop. The alcohol, it didn't make him feel better, but it numbed him against the pain.

It was better than feel like he was being torn apart from the inside.

"I don't know how," he admitted, almost silently.

"You don't have to do it alone," Kingsley said.

…

When George woke up, he didn't recognise where we was. The bed he was curled up on was comfortable, and the blankets smelled familiar, though he couldn't quite place the scent. On the dresser beside the bed, a potion vial, holding what George could only assume was a hangover potion.

It looked like one, and when he opened it, it certainly smelled like one. Why hangover potions had to have such a disgusting odour, George had no idea, but it was almost enough to make you just deal with the hangover instead.

He drank it, shuddering at the nasty taste, and then laid still for a few minutes, letting it take effect. Memories of the night before were slowly trickling into his mind and he winced as he remembered the way he'd spoken to Kingsley.

No matter how bad George was feeling, Kingsley didn't deserve it. He was only trying to help.

He climbed from the bed and entered the bathroom attached, raising his eyebrows when he saw a pile of clothes with his name on them, and a toothbrush sitting atop them.

He used the toilet, brushed his teeth and then climbed into the shower. It had been… longer than he cared to think about. The bars didn't care about how he smelled—as long as he had the money to pay for the quantities of alcohol he imbibed—but he had a feeling that his current host would care a little more.

The water felt criminally good as it washed away the grime of days of alcohol induced stupors and self pity, and when he climbed out of the shower and dried and dressed himself, he admittedly felt a little better.

He padded down the stairs barefoot and sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Kingsley to finish whatever he was writing. He thought he'd probably known that he was in Kingsley's home as soon as he'd woken up; it hadn't been a shock to see the man sitting at the table.

"How are you feeling?" Kingsley asked, laying his quill down on the table beside the parchment he'd been writing on.

"A little better," George admitted, looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies," Kingsley rebutted softly. "They're unnecessary. I understand that grief isn't something to be gotten over easily."

George nodded, his eyes still on his hands. He was ashamed, but the gaping hole in his chest told him firmly that it was time to get out of there. He needed to find another bottle to numb the pain before it destroyed him.

"How are you?" he asked, in lieu of anything else to say.

Kingsley sighed. "They are asking me to lead. I'm doing the best I can. It's… rough, but I have big shoulders. This is a burden I can handle."

"Oh, you… you're going to be the Minister for Magic?"

Kingsley chuckled. "I _am _Minister, George."

"But then… what in the hell were you doing picking me up from that bar?" George asked, meeting Kingsley's eyes as the shock made him forget his own shame for a moment. "Surely you had more important things to be dealing with?"

Kingsley shook his head. "You're important to me. I made the time, as I will continue to do, for as long as it's necessary."

"You… you don't need to do that," George murmured desperately. "I'm fine, Kingsley. It's… you're much too busy to be—"

"I ask that you let me be the judge of that," Kingsley interrupted. "Would you like some breakfast?"

…

Similar scenes played out over the following months. Kingsley didn't always have the time to come and drag George away from whatever bar he'd perched himself in, but most of the time, he did.

Everytime, he brought George back to his own place, and tucked him into bed. In the morning, he was always there when George woke up, and he always offered breakfast.

Sometimes, George escaped as soon as he could, the shame and grief overpowering, but more and more, he found himself able to sit down with Kingsley and just… be.

Even if it was only for a little while.

That was why, on a rare morning when Kingsley smiled and told him that he had the whole day off, George asked him to come with him to the graveyard where Fred was buried. He wasn't sure he could handle it, but he knew it would be much harder if he went alone.

At least if Kingsley were there, he'd have someone to catch him when he fell. At this point, George couldn't imagine asking anyone else.

…

Signs of his family were spread around the gravestone. Fresh flowers, and even some of the WWW pranks were littered around it.

George closed his eyes for a long moment, unable to look at the headstone that pronounced his twin dead.

Instead of falling, like he'd feared, he reached out and pressed his hand against Kingsley's larger one, feeling bolstered when Kingsley immediately threaded their fingers together and squeezed lightly.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but George felt oddly at peace. Almost like he could breathe again.

Eventually, he reached out and pressed his hand to the slab of concrete. "I'm really gonna miss you. I love you, Fred."

He turned to Kingsley and smiled at the taller man. It felt a little foreign, but good, to smile. "I'm ready to go."

It was only then that he realised he didn't know where he would be leaving too. He hadn't been back to the flat he and Fred had once shared, and he didn't really want to deal with his mum's overpowering affection at the moment.

Kingsley nodded. "Come on then. Let's go home."

And when he Apparated them back to his own home, George realised he was right. It did feel more like home than anywhere else did at the moment.

…

It wasn't a quick fix. There were still days that George woke up and the pain felt new and intense and he was driven straight to the bottle.

Kingsley was patient with him, helped when he could, and sat back and waited when George needed the space.

As the year anniversary approached with daunting speed, George managed to go back into the shop. He took Lee with him, and between the two of them, they took an inventory. George worked slowly, quietly, on restocking the shelves.

He didn't invent anything new, didn't feel like he could yet, but the two of them had worked hard to get that shop. Fred would never forgive him if he just… gave up. He'd be so disappointed, hell, George was already disappointed in himself that he hadn't felt up to doing this before.

The day after the anniversary, a day George had spent with his family, remembering and sobbing and everything in between, George reopened Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It was both a hard day, and the best day he'd had in _years_.

When he stopped for a breather and looked over the shop, it was to see Kingsley standing by the register, talking to Lee. When Kingsley looked up, and saw George watching, he gave him the most beaming, pride filled smiled.

And George knew that despite the pain, and the grief, and the tears and the horror, the crush he'd once denied had blossomed under its own power.

George was in love.

…

"I don't know how to thank you," George admitted. The two of them were sitting in the garden, the sun setting in the sky, leaving beautiful lines of red and purple and orange.

Kingsley was dressed casual, an intimacy that George craved, since much of the time, Kingsley was dressed in his beautifully crafted robes. Now though, he wore toffee coloured sweats and a plain white t-shirt that molded to his sculpted upper body perfectly.

"You have nothing to thank me for," Kingsley replied, looking at him. "I did nothing that I did not want to do."

"You still deserve my gratitude," George argued. "Whether you wanted to do it or not. You saved me."

"It was not as selfless as you believe," Kingsley agreed. "I needed you to be okay, George."

"I just… I guess, I can't help but wonder what happens when you get on with your life," George admitted. "I'm not trying to hold you, or control you or—"

"George," Kingsley interrupted, sounding oddly amused. "What on earth makes you think I'll ever be moving on my life _without you?" _

"I guess I just… I still expect to wake up one morning and for you to just… vanish," George replied.

"I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I'm not leaving you," Kingsley said, and he was so firm that George just had to believe him. "I told you, George. I'm not as altruistic as you think I am. I had a… vested interest in helping you come to terms with your loss, in helping you to learn how to be okay again."

"A vested interest?" George repeated.

"I've been falling in love with you for… quite a long time, George."

George opened his mouth a few times, only to find that no words would come out.

Kingsley smiled at him sadly. "I don't tell you that to pressure you, George. I don't want you to feel—"

He was interrupted by George, who, lacking words, thought that action might get his point across. He pressed his lips to Kingsley's, gently at first, and then with more pressure and heat when Kingsley immediately raised his hand and let it rest against George's cheek, holding him in place.

When they parted, Kingsley held George close, and kept their eyes connected.

"Tell me that you're not doing this out of a mistaken sense of gratitude," he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

"I'm not," George swore. "I promise."

…

George woke when the door to the bedroom opened, and he blinked his eyes open groggily, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch Kingsley as he undressed, tossing his dark green robe to the side in an uncharacteristic move that told George he was very tired.

Moments later, Kingsley climbed into the bed, clearly exhausted since he hadn't even realised that George had woken up.

"Hey, everything okay?" George asked, shifting closer in the bed.

Automatically, Kingsley pulled him close and cradled George's head to his chest, burying his face against George's hair.

"Hmm, so much paperwork," he moaned, his voice already slurred with sleep. "G'back to sleep."

George nodded, nuzzling his face against Kingsley's chest for a moment before he settled. "Love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

George fell back to sleep almost immediately, more comfortable now that he had Kingsley there beside him. His nightmares weren't cured, by any stretch, but knowing that Kingsley would be there beside him was often enough to keep George in bed, rather than chase him to the garden.

Never had he believed that this would be where he'd end up. He still missed Fred every day, and he visited his grave every week, but he could smile.

He could laugh, and design new products and he could love Kingsley and enjoy life and still love and miss Fred.

He'd learnt that.

He thought that Fred would be proud of him. He hoped so.

Except now, he wasn't wishing for the next time he'd see his twin to come for a while. He had too much to live for to want death so soon. One day, he knew he'd be reunited with his twin again.

Until then, he was happy.

* * *

**Written for: **

Disney - D5. "I'm really gonna miss you. I love you, [Name]."

Book Club - Claire - Patient / Carefree / Playing with someone's hair / Violet

Showtime - 16. "I'm not your son."

Attic - 23. "They are asking me to lead. I'm doing the best I can."

Press Play - 2. "That's the problem."

Scamander's Case - 17. Powerful

Film Festival - 21. Romance

Marvel - Reality Stone - Disappointed / Graveyard / George Weasley

Days Of The Year - 11. International Joke Day - Fred or George Weasley

Colour - 8. Toffee

Elemental - 6. Blaze

Elizabeth's Challenge - Kingsley / "I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I'm not leaving you."

Gryffindor - 8. George Weasley

Funfair - Splash a Mod - Amber - Kingsley Shacklebolt

Funfair - Gnome Throwing - Kingsley Shacklebolt

FunFair - Pygmy Puff - Beatrix - Green

Pop Figure - Jessica Jones - Sulky / "I didn't listen to a word you just said." / Confident / Sharing a bed.

365\. 138 - Vanish

Scavenger - 51. A Pairing you've never written before.

1000 - 343. Sobbing


End file.
